I Am Machine
by cadeleus
Summary: "Wirt" is the contained vessel of the last of an intergalactic people, sent down to Earth by the Beast to keep him safe after a war. Now adapting to human life, he remains in the care of the only other human who knows his situation, an old man known as The Woodsman. However, his fate is steered off course when he meets Gregory. and hiding becomes a daunting task. Beast!Wirt.
1. Worms and Dirt

The name Wirt was a degrading joke, thought up by Wirt's very creator himself, The Beast. As he had collected the unbeating heart from the chestof the dead human child (a small boy named Charlie, aged eight according to his gravestone), he laughed in the direction of the trembling Woodsman, sitting a few feet away from him, and said it was the perfect name for a functioning corpse, as it was a combination of "worms" and "dirt." The Woodsman had forced a laugh, but kept his eyes on his lantern.

The Beast tossed the rotting heart into the fireplace, and, sucking in a deep breath, gently plucked the glowing orb from the table next to the bed the deceased child was on. He spun it around in his fingers, and inserted it into the opening where the human heart was a minute ago.

Everything was warm and still, and the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace. The Beast and the Woodsman watched the child with anticipation.

When nothing happened, the Beast began to fumble around with the orb. He spun it in several directions, and although it seemed perfectly centered, nothing happened. Disappointment began to settle in; The Beast had pushed the thought to the back of his mind that this wouldn't work

He sighed and gave the orb two gentle taps, and on the second, he gasped and jumped back.

The child opened his eyes. But what used to be ordinary brown eyes, were glowing eyes with rings of blue, yellow, and orange.

The Beast regained himself and stood up. The chestnut haired boy's breathing was unsteady. He was twitching eratically as if unfamiliar with inhabiting a human body. It took him a few moments to understand the breathing function, and soon, he was still and his breath was steady.

The Beast grinned triumphantly. "Come here, Woodsman."

With reluctance, the Woodsman picked his lantern up from the floor and sided with the Beast, who beamed at the child.

Wirt resembled a zombie-alien hybrid. Blood surrounded the hole around his "heart", mud had hardened on his face, arms, and legs. He began speaking, but the Woodsman didn't understand a word of what he was saying.

"Mortigi...min...lasu min...la (1)"

He's just in pain right now," The Beast murmured. "Don't mind what he's saying."

"Well, I can't really mind it if I don't understand it."

The Beast waved his hand. "Don't worry about it, then." He turned to the grunting boy. "Mi bedaŭras (2), Wirt," he whispered, and picked up a fine needle and thread. After preparing what awaited the poor boy, the Beast pinched the boy's skin back together, earning a pained screech. The Beast proceeded with a visible cringe, sliding the needle and thread through Wirt's pale skin.

Wirt was laying stiffly, holding his breath and gritting his teeth, once his chest was done being stitched back together. The stitches were sloppy, but the wound remained closed, and that's all that mattered.

The Beast sighed and picked Wirt up in his arms. "Cover the poor thing up, and bring him home. Do something about his eyes." He handed the limp body off to the Woodsman and leaned in, so close that the Woodsman felt the threat radiating off of the Beast and instinctively held Wirt closer.

"And _don't let anyone know what he is."_

xxxxxxxxx

1\. "Kill me, let me die."

2\. "I'm sorry."


	2. Stars and Mortality

What once was a quiet existence, with nothing but the whispering of the waving stream and boredom that was pleasant in the best way possible, became foreign mumbling and the cries of a soul whose very presence was tortured by the difficulty of functioning in a moving corpse.

The Woodsman used his elbow and, with much difficulty, open the door to his small cabin in the middle of the woods. He kicked the door shut and lugged Wirt into the bathroom.

He hadn't been paying much attention to the body, not even as he set him down on the toilet lid and wet a rag under the sink. When he turned to Wirt, his blood ran cold and he nearly jumped with a start at the sight of the boy's glowing eyes staring at him, his mouth hanging open slightly.

The Woodsman took a deep breath and stepped in front of the toilet, kneeling in front of the corpse. Wirt's glowing eyes bored through his own, and they just followed him, each and every movement.

Wirt drew in a sharp breath at the sudden cold on his face, as the Woodsman rubbed away the soot and mud.

"It's cold, I know, I'll be done in a second."

Wirt coughed, and in a croaky voice, responded, " _Mi ne komprenas_ [1]."

To that, the Woodsman had no reply.

Rather, he just supposed it wasn't important, and finished cleaning off Wirt's face.

He twisted the nozzles of the bathtub and allowed hot water to run. He added a bit of cold water until it was considerably yet tolerably hot, and plugged the drain.

"In," he ordered, pointing to the tub.

Wirt just gave the tub a quick glance before turning his gaze back to the Woodsman.

"Um..." He brought up a hand, not knowing how to tell it do something with such a language barrier. "You," -he pointed to Wirt- "In there." - he pointed into the bath tub.

Wirt looked back at the tub, and his eyebrows twitched in a sense of understanding. He weakly brought up two weak, pale arms.

The Woodsman obliged, and picked Wirt up, setting him into the water.

The water sang a twinkling tune as it rippled upon Wirt's foot entering the water, and its melody got deeper as the pale, thin body was laid down. As the rippling settled, and the water's song stopped, there was only silence. The hot water made the room warmer, and Wirt looked cleaner and more relaxed than before.

The Woodsman's nerves calmed. His hands no longer shaking, he dunked a cup into the tub to fill it, and doused it over Wirt's head. His hair darkened, now soaked and dripping, and he gasped, twitching at the water thrown on him.

The Woodsman knew whatever he said would go incomprehensible to the hybrid's ears, so he said nothing, spoke of no reassurances as he took a bottle of shampoo and poured a small pile of it in Wirt's hair. He massaged it into a lather, cleaning what he could of the corpse's hair.

He filled the cup again, and rinsed Wirt's hair until the suds were all gone.

The Woodsman pulled a towel from the cupboard and lay it onto the counter. Careful not to let the boy slip from his hands, he pulled Wirt out of the tub and onto the toilet, tucking the blanket under his bum and folding it over him.

"Stay," the Woodsman said to him without thinking, and he left the bathroom, to a bedroom that hadn't been touched in months.

He was careful not to look at anything, not to let himself get engulfed with the grief and weight that made the air in the room feel dense. From a drawer, he pulled out a pair of pink shorts and an oversized white T-Shirt.

He scurried back to the bathroom, and set the clothes on the toilet seat. Wirt, who'd been sitting there still as a stone, broke his stature to look up at the Woodsman, whom pulled the towel off of him and dried his hair, so quick and rough you'd think he was trying to start a fire with the moist strands. Graciously, the Woodsman unfolded the shirt and fit it over Wirt's head and eased his arms into the short sleeves. He tapped Wirt's ankles one at a time in a silent order for him to lift them up, and he pulled the shorts up to Wirt's waist.

"Good- clean and dressed."

Out the window, in the late of night, even the moon slept, and the stars threatened to fall to slumber as well.

"Come on," The Woodsman said, picking Wirt up in his arms the way you'd hold a fragile newborn baby.

It felt sweet enough, but could have felt innocent if Wirt's eyes weren't like lightbulbs.

The Woodsman brought him into the bedroom and laid several coats onto the floor, on the side of the bed next to the closet.

He set Wirt down, and covered him up with an unused spare blanket from the closet.

"There."

The Woodsman sighed and, finally, for the first time in at least seventeen hours, lie down in his bed.

He shut his eyes, lids heavy and submissive, when he heard a shuffling noise from the makeshift bed he'd set up for Wirt. The shuffling swept from the Woodsman's left, to the area near his feet, to the opposite side of the bed, nearest to the window. The Woodsman looked down, where Wirt had crawled over and leaned against the bed, blanket over his shoulders and knees pulled to his chest. His glowing eyes gazed out the window, and the light of the stars created the illusion of life shining on Wirt's face.

For a split second, you could have easily forgotten that he was an alien soul in a dead human's body.


End file.
